


where it's always been

by nimrodcracker



Series: i'll sleep with the stars tonight [5]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Aggressive Validation, F/F, Gen, Late Night Conversations, N7 Day, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-29 10:24:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8485717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimrodcracker/pseuds/nimrodcracker
Summary: Shepard's dyeing her hair, Ashley's trying to sleep, so of course they talk about their deepest insecurities at 2AM





	

**Author's Note:**

> here i thought i could post this in time for N7 Day... and then the next few days basically went to shit. sigh.
> 
> well, at least it's up anyway.
> 
> (title's taken from Mayday Parade's One For Us.)

It's not like Ashley has trouble sleeping. Some days, she tosses and turns, strung out between wakefulness and sleep, but she does eventually. Not like the shellshocked grunts she's seen during her S1 days; red-eyed, twitching limbs and eyes wide open. They have it worse than her. 

_Or was she simply used to it?_

Watching the stars streak by in the port observation deck usually calms her down, enough to lull her to sleep - but not today. Tonight, it reminds her of Reaper eyes and Cerberus soldiers that she grabs a dead-ass  _awful_  book from the shelves nearby -  _The Council Races - A History_  - and strides off to somewhere else with a good view. 

She's nothing against aliens, really. Never had any to begin with, unlike those Terra Firma xenophobes. Just- Ashley's favourite subject back in school wasn't galactic history.

Nowhere on the Normandy is warm enough this time of the night; and not even wearing her Spectre hoodie - a homecoming gift from  _Shepard,_  of all people - can ward off the chill. So instead of ambling towards the mess, Ashley heads straight to Life Support, because this book's heavier than it looks and there's no way in hell the bar at the starboard deck is empty at this time.

When she walks in, who she sees makes her flinch, even if they've made up weeks ago.

Ashley dreams of the Citadel Coup these days, and in them, Shepard shoots her. 

But Shepard didn't, and Shepard  _wouldn't_ , so Ashley stays at the door instead of bolting immediately. "Hey. Didn't mean to intrude." 

"Come in." Shepard doesn't miss a beat. "I could use some help." 

Clad in another of her generic muscle tees - with arms  _exposed_  - Shepard's sitting at the table, facing the mirror looking out at the SR2's drive core. Ashley marvels Shepard's ability to withstand the night-cycle chill until she spots an uncapped tube of paint on the table, inches beside a bowl filled with indigo liquid. Then she notices Shepard's now-shockingly coloured hair, which is anything but its previous shade of chestnut; and its original black.

And of course, Shepard's well-defined biceps. Thank  _God_  for small mercies.

Ashley pulls out the chair opposite Shepard and sits, book on galactic civilisations pushed away far to the side. "Dyeing your hair, Shepard? Doesn't that flout a couple of Alliance regs?"

"Dress Code Regulations, Section 36B, clauses ten to twenty, actually." Smirking, Shepard swivels in her seat to face Ashley. "I could die tomorrow, Ash. The brass can kiss my ass."

Shepard's always had nerves of steel, Ashley figures. Women like her shrug off Reapers and military tribunals like loose sweaters. Would've been nice for Ashley to have half of that, if it means trashing the sucky family rep she's had since Shanxi. "And risk another hearing?  _Really_ , Shepard?"

Shepard flashes a toothy grin; it fits on a face that never really healed from cybernetic scarring. "I can always say it's the alien blood I never bothered washing off." 

Ashley knows she's not about to get any wick of sleep tonight, the way they've been bantering - not like she gives a damn. It's  _Shepard_  - her friend, her comrade, her captain. Moments like this are just like old times, the three of them fooling around, just- 

Just without Kaidan. 

"Shit, Mia. And I thought you couldn't get more morbid than your constant thoughts of death."

Shepard's gaze latches onto Ashley's unnervingly quick, a silent question in her still frame.  _God_. Must've been the slight quaver in her voice - Shepard can hear  _that_? - that gave her away, so Ashley shakes her head, firm and final.

For someone whose awkwardness with expressing emotions bordered on endearing, Shepard's astute sense of emotion was unnerving. Call her paranoid, but Ashley thought Shepard being a vanguard was terrifying enough.

"The more you know, Ash. The more you know." Shepard studies her a moment longer before massaging dye into her hair once more. "Plus, it'll take us a week to reach the Far Rim, so I figured better now than never. See any spots I missed?"

"Nah, you're good. It's blue all over." Or purple. Whatever. It's a lovely pastel shade that Ashley adores. "Didn't think you'd be awake at this hour, skipper. It's  _just_  a quarter past two. In the morning."

"I could say the same for you."

"Touché. But why here?"

"Driest place on the ship. Helps the dye dry out quick." Shepard rakes fingers through her hair falling below her ears, a clumsy motion that Shepard somehow makes elegant; like how she turns brutal, bloody hand-to-hand into precise hits and clean blows.

That's how Ashley finds herself staring at Shepard's hands at an ungodly hour in the morning; morbidly wondering if those viny fingers have snapped throats before, while her eyes trace the green veins snaking under Shepard's skin.

They drift into an easy silence - with Ashley staring at the drive core, and Shepard rubbing dye into her hair. For a moment, they can forget that Reapers are conquering entire star systems by the day. 

For a moment, they can breathe.

"I used to sit here," Shepard begins after a while, when her whole head's coated in dye. "Sitting with Thane. I'd always find him deep in thought, watching the drive core."

Ashley remembers the assassin. He'd visited her a couple of times before the coup, and those moments - however brief - were enough to make her admire him; his composure and understated dignity refreshing in the uncertainty of that time. 

Thane had to be the drell equivalent of tall, dark and handsome. In other words, hot stuff  _indeed,_ and it was surprising that Shepard hadn't hooked up with him. Last Ashley checked, Shepard had a thing for danger and intensity - and biotics were a huge part of that.

"Were both of you close?" Ashley blurts. 

Why yes, it's a perfectly reasonable question to ask her skipper. Oh  _no_ , she isn't jealous. Not at all.

"Maybe?" Shepard shrugs, tugging off her stained plastic gloves. Her head's a striking mop of indigo, now - and it complements her terracotta-brown skin marvellously. "Spent my off-hours discussing existentialism with him. He could always put things into perspective."

"Like Kaidan?"

Shepard's smile is wistful. "Like Kaidan." 

Ashley lets out a breath; it's the stuffiness of the room,  _honest_. But she leans in anyway, on her elbows and closer to Shepard. "He's in a better place now, skipper. I know he is. Hell, I bet he's watching out for us - you especially. Sometimes I can't tell if you have a death wish or just love charging all over the place."

"Death wish?" Shepard makes a noise of distaste. "Not anymore, Ash." 

It's her imagination, Ashley thinks, that leads her to think that Shepard had stressed her name. But damn, Shepard's shooting her a pointed look this instant, and that's something her imagination can't fake.

_You're well and truly_  whipped _, Williams._

"And..." Shepard trails off with a swallow. "I hope so. He told me his headaches were agonising." 

Silence steals Shepard's words, snatching them as they leave her moving lips. Shepard's thoughts are vivid, Ashley can see from her intense look of concentration, but as always, they're confined to the limits of her mind. Galaxies exist inside of Shepard, but Ashley's just a simple spacer. 

Eventually, Shepard gets the words out. "Sometimes, it feels like leaving him behind was the right choice. A mercy killing." 

"Shepard?" 

Shepard narrows her eyes in a glare. "I meant every word, Ash." 

"Hey, wasn't trying to-" Ashley catches herself, smothering the flare of anger in her chest. Shepard isn't doing it on purpose; this  _is_  Shepard. 

"Sorry," Ashley exhales, only to be surprised by the sound of Shepard's voice alongside hers. Ashley thinks of grinning at the coincidence, but Shepard beats her to it.  _Damn_  woman.

"Remember when you yelled at me on the crew deck about Kaidan? Back on the SR1?" Shepard teases. Her tee is splattered indigo in places; it's not so generic anymore.

"Oh my god. Skipper, please. Don't remind me. I acted like a complete dumbass. Though I  _swear_ I didn't know how I found booze in my locker."

There's a lightness in Shepard's expression as she laughs; one that wipes away the hard lines of stress etched into her face. This is Shepard without Mindoir or Reapers - and it's a look that Ashley wants to see more of. Not only for her sake, but Shepard's too.

"I'll let it slide, Spectre Williams." Shepard cuts through Ashley's musings with a shake of her head. "Since it makes me laugh."

"How gracious of you, Spectre Shepard," Ashley laughs too, but it hurts. It hurts, knowing that Shepard rarely laughs these days. The more names on the remembrance wall, the less Shepard smiles - and the higher her walls become, each day a brick stacked on another brick until Ashley fears that it'll become unscalable.

She's lost too many friends to the Reapers; losing Shepard will tip her off the edge.

"You better believe it, Williams. Now that we're both LC's, I can't pull rank anymore."

"That a threat, skipper?"

"No," Shepard smirks, but the tense lines around her eyes remain. "Never again. Even for training sims, I'd rather not shoot you again." 

Two words. 

Her laugh lodges in her throat.

Her ears hear the crack-crack of a Carnifex. 

Ashley flinches and knocks over the bowl of dye.

Shepard's quick enough to react, catching the bowl with her biotics before it spills its contents. Wide-eyed, Shepard sweeps everything on the table between them aside with an arm, whilst cursing under her breath. "Ash. Bad joke. Forget I said anything."

But Ashley can't.

"Shit." Ashley figured she was over it. She was  _supposed_  to be unaffected by this. Shepard had apologised  _on the very same day_  because she didn't want the resentment to fester. Ashley liked to think that worked.

But her throat's clammed up, and her palms are damp with sweat. She can't wipe them on her leggings; she can't even  _feel_  her hands. 

It's quiet enough to hear the hum of the Normandy's drive core, so Ashley focuses on that. Breaths in, breaths out, and Ashley closes her eyes, feeling the calm trickle back. The only good thing to have come out of her sessions with the shrinks after the SR1, anyway.

But she still feels the blood gush out of her chest, sticky and hot like the tears she shed after Alchera. Even if they're real only after closing her eyes.

"I shoot you in your dreams, don't I?"

Shepard's tentative, gentle even - however gentle a voice intimate with derision can be. But coarse tones are meant for whipping troops into shape and dragging people to heel, so Ashley closes up, walls up, suddenly wary of even looking at Shepard. She can't help it; she's suddenly thinking of Horizon, of Mars, the Citadel Coup - of every instance where doubt loomed dark over their relationship. 

_What if Cerberus still has you?_

For all that's happened, they never did talk about Cerberus. Ashley doesn't want to pry, Shepard doesn't want to tell, and it becomes something best left unsaid; so different from how Ashley confronted Shepard back on Mars. 

_What changed?_

Shepard, stock still and inscrutable, watches her like how she watches Batarian pirates. Incidentally, those pirates are crushed into shapelessness; either with biotics or her bare fists. 

Ashley can't suppress her involuntary shiver.

"Wanna know a secret, Ash? You're shot dead in my dreams too. By me."

"Cerberus?" Ashley croaks. She can't bring herself to look Shepard in the eye. 

She's afraid of what she'll find.

"For the greater good." Shepard's expression ages decades in a second, and she glances up at the ceiling. "I don't have a control chip. The Illusive Dick confirmed that. But who needs Cerberus tech when there's indoctrination?" A pause, a squaring of shoulders - obviously Shepard's still unsettled by this thought. "I'm more cybernetics than flesh, Ash. Lawson denied using Reaper implants when rebuilding me, and neither Mordin nor Chakwas could detect any with their scans. They say indoctrination starts with whispers and pounding headaches, and I've had them for some time."

Ashley's ears are ringing, and not just with gunshots. "Might the Cipher, Shepard."

"Started after I woke up in a Cerberus facility, Ash."

Ashley has no answer for that. 

"Damn it." Despite herself, Ashley grabs Shepard's hands. Shepard freezes at the sudden contact - but relaxes a heartbeat later. " _Damn it,_  Shepard. Why are you telling me this?"

Shepard meets Ashley's gaze head-on. "Because I need someone to shoot me if they take control." 

_No one returns from indoctrination alive._

Ashley feels like screaming. " _Mia_." 

"You're the XO. It's your job." Shepard untangles her hands from Ashley's grasp, the second human Spectre too stunned to move. "And you know me best." 

_Callous._  It's easy to dismiss Shepard as that, hearing her state her request like they're discussing security arrangements aboard the SR2. One look at her field record makes it far clearer - it's overflowing with commendations for prioritising the mission over all else. That's why the Alliance loves her; the clockwork soldier who kills on command and gets the job done. No price is too high, and failure's  _never_  an option. The N7 stripe on her armour is well-earned. In  _blood._

But Ashley understands. She's not looking at callousness; she's looking at a person deathly afraid of becoming everything she loathes. A person who abhors weakness because for the sake of the galaxy, she  _cannot_  be anything less than perfect. Emotions complicate things, and there's no place for complications in the chain of command.

Shepard's fears are her weaknesses, and she's handed them to her.

_Trust_. 

"Shepard, I don't know what to say. I appreciate you telling me this, but- how the hell does someone respond to this?" 

"Wasn't expecting you to." Shepard busies her hands with tidying up her materials, looking blissfully unaffected by what they've recently discussed. "No need to cry on my account, Ash. I'd rather you be angry at the Reapers. Cerberus is fine too."

"With you, skipper, sometimes I don't know whether to laugh or cry." Ashley tries to focus on rubbing the lethargy out from her eyes, because the mere  _thought_  of Shepard's request still snap-freezes her blood to ice. "And great. Now I can't sleep for real. As if I don't have enough fodder for my nightmares, right?"

"It needed to be said." Shepard shrugs, infuriatingly blithe. "And it wasn't fair to know your secrets without telling you mine."

"Hell of a secret, though." Ashley sighs again, disquiet crawling under her skin. She won't forget it anytime soon, that's for sure - but this isn't how she imagines her three a.m. reflection sessions to pan out...not like she even  _has_  them. "To answer your question, yeah. That's why I'm here, skipper. Wandering the crew deck with a book at an insane hour, hoping to bore myself with the driest of texts to get dreamless shut-eye because  _you actually take the shot_. Obviously you didn't, 'cause I'd be dead. And you even said you wouldn't. Couldn't, if it came to that, but.."

"It's the nagging fear," Shepard completes a few breaths later, when Ashley doesn't. 

Those words linger loud in the stillness, louder than the ever-present murmur of Shepard's biotics. It stops them from talking for a while, but there's none of the awkwardness Ashley anticipates. 

There is only the silence; hiding feelings, hiding secrets. Hiding parts of themselves they're too ashamed to reveal.

Only then, does Ashley nod. "Shepard, I want to trust you. Hell, already am, always have, ever since you bailed my sorry ass from Eden Prime. Just- those two years were hard."

It's too late - or  _early_  - for a conversation as heavy as this, Ashley thinks. And certainly not enough booze around, because she detests discussing things like this sober. It doesn't help that Shepard tenses up across her, gnashing her jaw like she always does when nervous - which is rarer than rare.

But she isn't Ashley Madeline Williams if she doesn't barge head-first into conversations. "Walking away was the hardest thing I've ever done, Mia. Even if you worked for Cerberus, I knew you had a damned good reason for doing so. You had to. Because you always do the right thing, no matter the cost."

Surprise floods Shepard's expression. "You remember?" 

Ashley does. Even if it's mentioned years ago in anger, when they're less of friends and more of soldiers.

"Like any stanza of poetry," Ashley smiles, despite the heaviness that soaks her words. Truth be told, Shepard's worth more than the lines she's committed to memory. Ashley echoes the words of ghosts to keep her alive, but ghosts are  _nothing_  compared to the voices of the living. "It haunted me, Shepard. The moment you appeared, I wanted to believe that. Because that would make the betrayal hurt less. You  _died_ , Mia, and I went through  _hell_  to let you go, but you just had storm back into my life with your killer scowl and I felt like I could believe in anything again. But I couldn't. Not when I barely knew who I was in that moment."

_There._  There it is, two years worth of heartache and hope and tension eating her out from within to carve out an undeniable hollow in her chest; the feelings she confesses being the thoughts she's never shared with anyone, save the glass walls of liquor bottles. 

And they  _never_  answer her.

Now, there's only the waiting; for words from a woman whose words are as guarded as her feelings. And the longer Shepard stays silent, the stronger her jitters become, and Ashley can't help but bounce her knees in time to the pulsing of the Normandy.

"I know." Shepard's blank expression cracks; out comes the hint of a smirk and a quiet sigh. "And I don't begrudge you for that." 

Ashley jerks her head up to see a grin play across Shepard's face. She thinks she might kiss her skipper out of relief ... but Shepard's particular about personal boundaries. To the point of physical harm.

But Ashley will be lying to herself if she thinks she hasn't imagined the feel of Shepard's lips on hers, scar and all.

"You...knew?" Ashley splutters, and Shepard grins ever wider. "And yet you let me spill my guts? Thanks a  _bunch_ , skipper."

"Had a hunch. Thanks for confirming it."

"Cannon fodder for the SSV Shepard, huh? Can't say it's a good thing."

"Spot on, Ash. It's not. Personal experience." 

_Because everyone around me dies. Especially those I care about._

"Personal experience too, Shepard," Ashley whispers, surprising herself. But not at the sentiment.

That's why words are superfluous between them; why the both of them gravitated to each other after Virmire, even without Kaidan anchoring them together. Even if rank, regs, and a history of hurt had stubbornly wedged themselves between them, they still hang on to each other.

"We're both messed up," Ashley states, and that's why. No marine passes out of service without baggage, but not every marine collects the same kind of baggage. 

And somehow, they have. 

"But we got each other," Shepard offers in response. "That's enough for me."

That's Shepard for you, Ashley thinks, as the fuzzy feeling of warmth pools in her belly. Stone-cold and sappy all at once, without drowning them in syrupy sentimentality. It comes across as nonchalant bravado, but maybe Shepard meant something else. Something  _more_. Three years of knowing her skipper and Ashley still can't tell.

She doesn't realise when she began smiling. "Normally I'd ask if you're high on red sand for saying that, but..."

Shepard smiles too, but it's an amused one. "Have a little faith, Ash." 

Belief. Shepard oozes that like her sporadic bursts of biotic discharge, and Ashley sees it now in Shepard's jutted-out chin. With her, Ashley can believe anything - which she should've, years ago - and she isn't about to stop now. This peace won't last; the Reapers will make sure of that. 

But for the first time in weeks, that's a thought that doesn't linger. 

"So, about Kaidan," Shepard says, running a hand through her coloured locks. Her hands come out clean. "You wanted to chastise me?"

"Nah." Ashley finds that she wants to touch Shepard's hair, too. Is it as fluffy as it looks? "I figured we let them rest tonight. What matters now is the living." 

"Damn right, LC." Shepard's giving her that mystifying look again; the one that hints more than just a smile, the one that Thane insisted Shepard gave no one else.

It fills Ashley with hope.

**Author's Note:**

> _march along_   
>  _don't forget to tell the ones you love they matter_   
>  _and when you break the bend_   
>  _fall off again_   
>  _you'll find your love where it's always been_ [.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HFPycZAYShQ)


End file.
